Font — Al-mushaf

The engineers left it untouched.

They asked him once, late in his life, what he thought about when he drew the first letter.

At the time, most Qurans were printed in either the classical Naskh script—beautiful but often too condensed—or the heavy Thuluth, which was majestic but difficult to read for long hours. Uthman Taha, a man who had spent decades memorizing the intricate rules of Arabic calligraphy, realized they were not asking for art. They were asking for clarity . Al-mushaf Font

Today, if you open a Quran printed in Medina, you are reading Uthman Taha’s handwriting—digitized but not diminished. Every Bismillah flows with the memory of his reed pen. Every verse break is a pause he measured with a ruler and a prayer.

It looked like Naskh, but it breathed like Thuluth. The letters sat closer together, reducing gaps that might confuse a reader. The ascenders were tall enough to give the page dignity, but the descenders were short enough to prevent crowding. It was a font that listened . The engineers left it untouched

He isolated himself in his studio, which smelled of ink and sandalwood. He began to draw.

Uthman Taha laughed softly. “Correct it? That lean is the only reason a reader’s eye doesn’t stop. If you straighten it, you break the rhythm of the page.” Uthman Taha, a man who had spent decades

But he did not want a computer’s cold perfection. He wanted the warmth of the human hand. So, he invented a hybrid: .

He replied: “I thought about the person who would read this page at midnight, alone, searching for peace. I wanted my letters to be a door that opens without a sound.”